


Stolen Dance

by taizi



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Dorks in Love, Friends to Lovers, I ship these two ridiculously a lot, M/M, idw - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3450662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's the alcohol impairing his judgement, like the snooty, Donny-sounding voice in his head suggests, but Mikey doesn't think so- because Woody leans in to kiss him, soft and certain and smiling. And it's new, but it comes as easily to them as movie nights and secret handshakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stoned in paradise

The radio's on because they forgot to turn it off before they left, and Woody pulls Mikey back to his feet at the turn of a new song. It's one Mikey's never heard before, low-octane and liquid where he usually leans toward bass and drums, and neither of them really know how to dance right now- they barely knew how to walk home, and Mikey's  _still_ not sure how they made it up the stairs.

But that makes it funny, stumbling into the coffee table and over the ottoman funny, and Woody's  _pretty_ , the city lights outside the window caught in the curls of his hair, and there's really no reason in the world  _not_ to dance with him.

So that's what they do, through the first stanza and the first refrain, tripping and giggling drunkenly through the living room, and  _then_.

 _Then_ Woody pulls him closer until there's no space left between them anymore, while Mikey's still breathless with laughter from the (literal) run-in with the entertainment center, and they're chest to armored chest. His brown eyes are dark and deep and soft enough to drown in, and for a second Mikey thinks he sort of wants to.

And maybe it's the alcohol impairing his judgement, like the snooty, Donny-sounding voice in his head suggests, but maybe it's not, because when Woody leans in to kiss him, soft and certain and smiling, it just makes  _sense_ in that moment the way nothing else would have.

It's curious and unafraid, the way they explore each other after that, and they grin because it's  _new_ but it comes as easily to them as movie nights and secret handshakes. It's always been easy between them, always. Woody is home and family in most of the same ways his actual home and family are- if not _all_ the same ways, then at least the most important.

The song's over when it's over, but Woody pulls him to the bedroom instead of saying goodbye. And even though Woody has to work in the morning, and Mikey's gonna be in a world of trouble if he doesn't sneak home soon, they fall in bed together laughing, and sleep's the  _last_ thing on their mind.

* * *

He wakes up with an arm draped over his waist and one under his head, a pulse beating slowly beneath his ear, and a lingering warmth in the blankets and borrowed, over-large t-shirt he's wearing. It's probably the most comfortable he's ever been, even if he's a little tired and a little sore, and he closes his eyes for a moment to memorize the way it feels.

There's rain outside, gentle and steady and tapping on the glass of the naked window across the room like hundreds of tiny fingers. Mikey opens his eyes again, and lifts his head to read the digital face of the clock on the nightstand.

5:23 looks back at him, and he thinks  _Oops_ with only a sliver of honest remorse. His phone, propped up by the lamp, isn't blinking with any missed messages or calls- Mikey can probably still make it home before his family realizes he never came back the night before, if he hurries.

But in Woody's sleep-loose embrace, Mikey doesn't wanna hurry anywhere. He turns carefully and lays his head down again on his friend's bare arm, facing him this time.

In the dim, early morning light of the room, with mussed curls tossed in his face and a line of dried drool on his chin, Woody's still pretty. And he was pretty last night, at the costume party Mikey snuck out to; when he introduced Mikey to his friends with a smile that could stop a truck, when he showed Mikey how to mix the perfect rum and coke, when he taught him how to dance in a crowded room- pressed so close together that every breath was a shared experience, nowhere to put their hands but on each other-

And he's  _so pretty_ in bed.

"If you were awake, would you ask me to stay?" Mikey wonders softly, and grins when Woody moves closer in his sleep.

* * *

Mikey makes it home in time, after all, by the skin of his shell. He feeds Klunk, and takes a shower, and slips into his bedroom before his family is awake.

It's usually comfortable, it's usually fine. It's been his room for years, since the day came that he and his brothers were too big to share a bed. It's a good room- he _likes_ his room.

But right now, it feels a little cramped. A little cold. Kind of lonely.

Or maybe that's just him.

* * *

Mikey's on top of his game during morning practice, maybe a  _little_ overzealous in his fixed determination not to let the late night before slow him down. Thankfully his brothers are used to his whims (Don's said something about  _kaleidoscopic effervescence_ more than once, whatever that means) enough that, aside from a few raised eye-ridges and a smattering of good-natured quips, they more or less let it go.

"Good job today, Mikey," is all Leo says, fondly; with a smile that's as amused as it is impressed. Mikey grins back, and thinks maybe he'll try as hard again tomorrow, if it makes Leo as proud as all that.

Sometime around eight a.m. his phone goes off, and he doesn't have to look at the Caller I.D. to guess who it is.

(Even better, only Raph is around to give him a weird look for the entirely goofy grin that breaks open on his face, and that's easy enough to pretend didn't happen.)

 _"You set my alarm clock before you left, you beautiful creature,"_  Woody says without preamble, and it makes Mikey chuckle.

"I knew you'd forget! You were a little distracted last night, dude."

 _"I wouldn't say that, Mikester,"_  he says, kindly.  _"I think my attention was definitely where it needed to be."_

There's a warmth in Woody's voice that takes Mikey back to the warmth of the bedroom he woke up in, the warmth that lingered even after he slipped out the window into the rain. It followed him underground and through the sewers and into the lair, and he can kind of still feel it, like it's taken root under his skin.

"You think so?" he asks, with a smile tugging at his mouth that he's at least a hundred percent certain Woody will be able to hear. On the other end of the line, Woody laughs.

_"I know so. And I know I'd like to be similarly occupied again tonight- and tomorrow night, and the next night, and the next, for roughly the rest of forever. If you're free."_

Free is the best word for what Mikey's feeling.


	2. that fortune cookie wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had always intended to expand on this mini 'verse, and a prompt from a pal on tumblr pushed me into gear. Chapters are titled after songs or lyrics relevant to my otp, consider this fic a Woody/Mikey mixtape.

Donnie straightens his jacket for the third time in as many minutes, and Mikey darts an anxious glance at the clock on the wall.

"I don't wanna go," he says plaintively, twisting his favorite hat in his hands. Looks from Donnie's patient brown eyes to Raph's soft green ones, two people in his life who are always—no questions asked— _somewhere_ on his side. "Is it too late to call him and cancel?"

"Absolutely," Donnie says, not unkindly. "Same as the last six times you asked. Don't worry, Mikey, they'll love you."

Woody promised the same thing, and Leo and Splinter, too, and Mikey knows better than to doubt all of them all at once; but he can't help doubting just a little bit anyway. And Raph looks pretty tense, and like he might be thinking this whole thing is a bad idea after all—his arms are folded to make up for his twitchy fingers, and he keeps staring really hard at Mikey's face when Mikey isn't looking at him, like he can glare a layer of protection into Mikey's skin by the sheer force of will and all that love he keeps unspoken and under wraps.

But just as Mikey starts to think it might be worth it to turn his efforts over to his red-banded brother, and turn up the pleas and puppy-dog eyes until Raph cracks, the red-banded brother in question says plainly, "Leo'll be back with your boy any minute, cheeseball," and Mikey's shoulders slump in defeat.

Sensei chuckles, a richly amused sound, drawing Mikey's gaze to him where he sits calmly on the lip of the pit. "You take after your father," he says warmly, and it warms Mikey right up, too, the easy affection stomping down a good ninety percent of the raw nerves fluttering like butterflies in his stomach. "You should have seen me fret the day Shen brought me home to her parents."

"Okay, but _sensei_. You were a human back then, and probably super handsome and cool and rad at martial arts. Of course mom's parents were gonna like you." Ah. Oops. 'Sort-of-mom.' But Splinter is still smiling, and rises to join their little group; smooths out a wrinkle Donnie somehow missed, and then slides gentle fingers under Mikey's chin, tilting his face up by a few degrees.

"You boys are everything I was, and more," he admonishes lightly, leaving Mikey looking probably as stunned as Raph and Donnie do. "Woodrow has been kind to this family from the night he found us, offering warm food and friendship without ever a moment of fear or disgust. I can only imagine the woman who raised him taught him the same thing I have tried to teach you; that what skin we wear hardly matters, and it is the hidden heart behind it that makes us worthy of love."

Oh, wow. That's a pretty big endorsement. Mikey looks down at his hands, and tries to feel worthy.

* * *

Woody greets Splinter with an endearingly awkward bow, and Mikey's brothers with a wave, and then he's leaning in for a kiss, right there in front of all of them. Making up for the months Mikey kept this a secret in that way he does—the same way his brothers make up for it right back, with teasing and a few only-partly-joking shovel talks and absolute, blanket _niceness_ wherever Woody is concerned. They were sorry Mikey thought he couldn't tell them about his crush– ashamed he thought it was something they might not let him have– and they do their best, unnecessarily, to make him never think that way again.

Raph wolf-whistles, and Don and Leo laugh, while Splinter chuckles somewhere behind it all, and Woody smiles at him like a person-sized sun.

Mikey's composure is effectively shot. His grin back is a little wobbly, but he's not quite as anxious anymore. Families are _weird_ like that.

* * *

When Woody's family townhouse comes into view, just barely visible through the swirling wind and snow, Mikey's courage fails him. He wants to stop, to turn and run back home, to 'maybe-another-time.' A secret part of his heart is afraid that this is _it._ That Woody's family, as nice as they might be, and probably are, won't be able to see past the green. That they'll be scared of Mikey right away, and then Woody will change his mind, and then Mikey will lose what he's come to love so, so much– and that'll hurt a whole lot heck of a lot worse than never having it in the first place.

He's afraid that tonight will be the last night that this wonderful impossible thing is _his_.

If he could just put it off for a little while longer–

He tugs to a stop, his hand in Woody's squeezing too tightly–oops. He loosens up, starts to let go, stammering a lame-sounding, "Um, actually- I don't think- maybe we shouldn't."

But Woody's fingers curl more tightly around his own, and he looks vaguely amused, like he was prepared for Mikey to totally try to bail or blow it or make a big dummy out of himself. He pulls Mikey a step closer by their linked hands, right there on the sidewalk in busy nighttime Manhattan, and leans until he can push their foreheads together.

"You," he says, absolute and patient, trying-to-be-firm and really only coming across as fond, "are going to have a good time. You're going to walk into that house, and charm everyone to pieces within five minutes, and they're all going to _love_ you." Then Woody's voice pitches low enough that Mikey shivers a little– and maybe it's from the cold, but maybe not, as his boyfriend adds, "And then we're going to go back to my apartment for the night, and _I'm_ going to love you. Think you can manage?"

Well. It's a tall order, but with a reward like _that_ on the line, Mikey thinks he might be able to pull it off.

* * *

Woody's _mamaí_ was short and somehow willowy at the same time, with a cascade of vibrant red hair pulled up into a bun and a delicate dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. She was dressed casually, in a sweater with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of paint-stained jeans and a fluffy pair of house slippers shaped like hedgehogs, and Mikey wanted to earn her approval _instantly._

When she pulled open the door, his breath was held and he was clutching Woody's hand for comfort and borrowed confidence, braced for any number of explosive reactions– he'd seen them all at this point, nothing would surprise him.

Except for, maybe,

"Oh my stars, Woodrow you _flute_ , get that boy inside before he catches his death of cold!"

"Yes, ma'am," and Mikey's ushered right in to a pair of surprisingly strong Irish arms. He stands a few inches taller than her, and doesn't quite manage to hug back through his dumb surprise before she's taking a step back and framing his face in her calloused hands.

"Mikester, this is my mam," Woody says without missing a beat _,_ closing the door behind them. _"_ You can call her that, everyone else does. Mam, this is Michelangelo."

"Well, I can see that, dear," she says, and smiles so mom-like and fearlessly at Mikey that he has no idea what to do with it. "And I see what you mean about his eyes, just _gorgeous_."

"Mam," comes the half-hearted protest, and she looks at him sternly over her shoulder, releasing Mikey with one hand to jab a no-nonsense finger at her only son, where he waffles in the foyer.

"Don't you 'mam', me. You left me in the dark about this darling boy for _months,_ I can say what I want!"

Mikey's head doesn't stop spinning until she's bustled off to finish dinner, and he's sitting with Woody in front of the fireplace. They're sharing a heavy quilt, passing a huge mug of homemade cocoa back and forth, and Woody's humming, and the den is thick with warmth. Woody's sisters had to do some last-minute shopping, but apparently they can't wait to meet him, and it's maybe ten minutes later that Mikey finally manages to ask, "Dude?"

"Yeah, amigo?"

"Am I hallucinating, or is this going really extremely better than it should be?" Suspicion was beginning to cloud the confusion, the paranoid-Leo-voice in his brain (that had, admittedly, saved his shell a few times) starting to call 'foul'. He's tensing up without meaning to, hand folding closed around Woody's arm, and his guard _shouldn't_ be up like this just because his boyfriend's mom was nice to him, but he'd spent so long being so worried and preparing himself so much, he just couldn't _understand_ her total lack of reaction.

"Ah," Woody says, and a blush is creeping up his cheeks for the first time all night. It gives Mikey pause. "Well. I didn't wanna say anything 'cause I knew your brothers would get mad, but– I showed her your picture awhile ago."

Mikey stares at him. Woody busies himself with the mug and doesn't look up. Mikey says, "Buddy. Sweetheart. Light of my life. You know my existence is kind of… kind of a _huge secret,_ right?"

He's not angry. He's not even annoyed. He's _surprised_ that it hadn't occurred to him that maybe Woody might have– he never told Woody not to, or asked him to keep any promises. It was all unspoken between them, they were always _so_ on the same page, that he can't help but feel relieved that there's a reasonable excuse behind his mam's easy acceptance, and delighted that he's finally not the one being flustered tonight.

Woody sighs, and puts an arm around Mikey's waist, and scoots him close enough to kiss. It's right there, in that close, warm place, that he says, "You don't know this, because you didn't grow up in a houseful of sisters, so I'll just tell you– there is _no such thing_ as a secret."

Mikey laughs out loud, practically drunk on relief and almost giddy with all that nervous energy expelled, and they kiss a lot more before his sisters come home– each of them bursting inside with all the fury of small, ginger tornadoes, and _demanding_ to meet their baby brother's _'secret lover.'_ Oh, jeez. Mikey returns hugs more enthusiastically this time, flushed and delighted and happily returning the banter without missing a beat, totally in his element.

Woody catches him again right before dinner, kissing him soundly despite the chorus of catcalls from the peanut gallery, and can't seem to stop touching him– he's so happy he's _glowing_ with it, and Mikey realizes it must feel similar to the day he brought his father to meet Woody that first time, how his heart seemed to burst when his father smiled his approval, and just kept bursting all through the rest of the night.

"I expect to see a lot more of you around here, young man," mam says sternly during dessert, with a twinkle in her eye that makes Mikey think of his own family back home and the way they have of saying more by not saying anything at all. The girls all clamor in agreement, and Woody directs his knowing smile at his cobbler, and Mikey can't believe how lucky he is to know and love all the people that he does.

* * *

Woody's sisters help bundle Mikey back up, and he's almost buried under their flurry of goodbye kisses. Mam shoos them off, then beckons at him with both hands, and he's quick to stoop into another one of her embraces. He's never been held by a mother until tonight, and he feels himself storing these hugs away in a safe place in the back of his heart.

"I told you they'd like you," Woody says, sometime after he's surrendered to the cold and hailed a taxi for the rest of the journey home, and they're huddled comfortably together in the backseat. Mikey's got enough layers on that the driver didn't give him more than a cursory glance when they climbed in, and as easily as the cold seems to seep through his skin and stick to his bones, he thinks he'll always like winter best for the freedom it lends him.

"You cheated," he replies comfortably. "You showed her my picture before I even got there. And you let me worry all night long, anyway. You're the worst."

"I told you _not_ to worry. It's not my fault you did it anyway."

"Oh, no way," Mikey argues at once. "It's _totally_ your fault."

This night has been _amazing_ , and Woody is a hundred percent to blame.

* * *

A few hours later, laying in bed with his head pillowed on Woody's chest, watching the snow drift sleepily outside through the naked window, Mikey hears his cell vibrate on the nightstand. He disentangles himself from the sheets, pushes Woody's shirt and a stray sock off the bed onto the floor, and reaches for the blinking tPhone.

**_-how'd it go?_ **

Mikey smiles. It's close to three a.m., but no part of him is surprised. He sits up to thumb back an immediate response, because Raph deserves one for worrying up so late.

**_-it was so rad. you guys were right, they really liked me._ **

At that, right away,

**_-course they did.  
-we're real proud of you, champ._ **

And Mikey thinks that maybe, being loved has nothing to do with being worthy, after all _._ Love comes on its own, whether you deserve it or not, and everything else just falls into place where it can.

**Author's Note:**

> The song mentioned in the beginning is Stolen Dance, by Milky Chance. If you haven't heard it, I recommend a listen! It's also (obviously) where I borrowed the title.


End file.
